


Halloween Party

by SharkAria



Series: Holiday SanSan [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 06:23:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5118449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharkAria/pseuds/SharkAria
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“That is the most incredible scar makeup I’ve ever seen!”  Sansa gushed to the enormous man attempting to pay for a realistically rendered and rather expensive faux sword.  “But you aren’t wearing the rest of your costume, so I’m not sure who you are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Halloween Party

SillyCostume!Sansa and RegularGrump!Sandor.

Amon = tortured villain from Avatar: Legend of Korra, another fandom that I’ve written way too much fanfic about.

A/N: I am almost 200% sure that this one has been done, but it’s Halloween and I couldn’t help it.

*_*_*_*

“That is the most incredible scar makeup I’ve ever seen!” Sansa gushed to the enormous man attempting to pay for a realistically rendered and rather expensive faux sword. “But you aren’t wearing the rest of your costume, so I’m not sure who you are. Freddy Krueger? The Phantom of the Opera? Amon -- I mean, you know, before it was revealed that the burns from the firebenders were fake?”

Sansa’s money was on Amon, what with all that long loose dark hair of his, though the man hadn’t gotten the look exactly right -- after all, Amon’s fake scars swept across his entire face, not just down the one side. And it didn’t really explain the sword purchase. But the man would cut an imposing figure with Amon’s sweet hooded steampunk tunic and rising sun mask. How amazing it would be to see the look on party guests’ faces when this man revealed just how accurately he had portrayed the character! 

The man’s cool makeup made Sansa envious. She felt a flush of irritation that she had caved in to her siblings’ request to do the same old group costume that they all wore together every year. It kind of made this whole “working at a seasonal Halloween shop” endeavor kind of pointless. But it made her brothers and sister happy, and it wasn’t like she could afford the really awesome costumes here anyway. She took the man’s credit card and swiped it through the reader, waiting for him to answer.

Instead, he just glared at her. “You think these scars aren’t real?” he muttered, grabbing his card out of her hand. His expression reflected incredulous disgust, and his tone of voice made it sound as though he thought she was either unbearably stupid or terribly cruel.

Ah, so he was one of those people who insisted on staying in character once the makeup was on. Sansa understood. She had attended enough comic conventions to know when somebody was resentful of breaking the fourth wall. The fact that he was questioning her about their realness lent credibility to her belief that he was going as Amon, though. However, it was a bit unfair of him to expect her to treat him like the tortured Equalist villain, not when the man wasn’t even wearing the rest of his costume. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as she bagged the pretend weapon. “Well, in any case, I hope you have a wonderful Halloween tonight!” she replied as she handed over his purchase.

He swiped it out of her hand and stalked out of the store, letting the door slam on the way out. Sansa stared up at the clock hanging above the rack of rubber masks. The day had crawled by, with last minute costume-seekers raiding the shelves, but there was finally just an hour before she could close up shop and get out of this boring orange tee shirt and change for her family’s annual party.

*_*_*_*

“There, all done,” Sansa said as she re-zipped Rickon’s wolf suit. Her youngest brother had already managed to spill soda down the front of his belly and grind chocolate into his paws. Just now he had somehow gotten his big fluffy tail stuck in the the spiderwebs that Arya and Robb had strewn along the bannister.

Sansa looked down at her own baggy, full-body wolf suit. On her brothers and sister the wolf costumes looked fun and silly and even kind of fierce, but she just felt kind of . . . shapeless and overheated. When Rickon and Bran were still young enough to go trick-or-treating, Sansa had liked wearing the big suit since it kept her warm in the chilly night air. But here, at the Stark family’s first big adult-ish Halloween party, in their spookily-decorated living room, Sansa felt childish and out-of-place. There were so many girls and women at the party wearing elegant and feminine and sexy outfits, but Sansa was stuck in this big hot get-up, with her face sticking out between the teeth of a wolf snout. 

Sansa shuffled past her parents, who had gone all out as a zombie bride and groom, and made her way to the kitchen, where Arya and Jon and Robb were crowded around the pumpkin carving table, casting ballots for the jack-o-lantern carving contest. 

“Look, the whole wolfpack is here! Well, more than half, anyway,” greeted Robb’s wife Jeyne, who was dressed as a pregnant Little Red Riding Hood.

“Drinks for the wolves!” Arya demanded, and Jon poured Sansa a glass of “blood punch” -- at least, that was what he called it, though Sansa was pretty sure it was just cranberry juice. She clinked glasses with her family and smiled, but she wasn’t much in the mood for joking around. She left the kitchen and went back out into the living room and stood against a wall, thinking of the Amon scar guy from earlier in the day and wishing she could have gone as Asami from the same TV show. How much more fun it would have been to be mingling with her parents’ guests while wearing a long raven wig and a slimming bodysuit and big boots and cool electrified Equalist glove-weapon-thing.

Joffrey, the bratty son of Sansa’s father’s friend, strutted past her in his Caligula outfit, his breastplate glowing a purple-gold under the blacklights and his red Roman cloak streaming behind him. He wore a crown of golden leaves in his blonde curls. It was a pretty well done costume, although the toga skirt was a bit short considering Joffrey’s rather skinny legs. He glanced at Sansa and snickered. “I thought that only little kids wore animal pajamas,” he mocked. “You’re such a baby, Sansa.” He stalked away toward the house’s foyer. 

Sansa quelled the urge to stick out her leg and trip the tyrant. Once, when she was still in high school, Sansa had harbored the most hopeless crush on Joffrey, but that had been long ago, so long ago that she tried not to remember it.

She heard the front door open. “What took you so long? I sent you out for this /hours/ ago,” Joffrey’s voice carried into the living room, over the loud music. A moment later he sauntered back in past Sansa, a familiar-looking fake sword in his grip.

Sansa blinked, staring at Joffrey’s billowing cloak as he made his way to a gaggle of sexy nuns. “Ladies of the faith! I’m here to defend you!” he declared, and Sansa couldn’t help but snort at Joffrey’s tenuous grasp on history.

She stepped into the foyer. The hulking man was turning back to walk through the front door. “Hey, it’s you! Amon!” she cried before she had time to think. How exciting to see him here, to finally find out what his costume was! But when he turned around, she saw that he was just wearing the same black collared shirt and black pants as he was this morning.

He stared at her, shock written across the side of his face that wasn’t covered in the scar makeup. “My name’s Sandor, wolf girl, not whatever bloody name Joffrey’s told you,” he grumbled and stepped outside.

/He must not recognize me,/ she thought as she followed him out the door and closed it behind her. “It’s me, from the costume shop. Sansa,” she introduced herself, and pulled the top half of the wolf head down so that he could see her whole head. “This is my parents’ house.”

Sandor’s eyes widened and his mouth twitched up, but Sansa couldn’t tell if he was smirking or just surprised. “That’s not what I thought a girl like you would wear on Halloween,” he rasped, his eyes roving over Sansa’s mascot-like costume.

Sansa blushed, realizing that now she looked like she was being devoured by a wolf, rather than the wolf herself. She didn’t really want to talk about her costume, not in front of this large interesting man, not when she wished that she were wearing something pretty or cute or maybe even provocative. She looked down at the man’s shirt. “I don’t understand. You still have that amazing makeup on your face, but you’re not wearing a costume that goes with it,” Sansa said, feeling oddly disappointed. She had imagined him in half a dozen excellent face-scar-related costumes, any one of which would have been wonderful.

Sandor narrowed his eyes at her. “You really don’t think these scars are real?” he muttered, disbelief coloring his voice. 

Sansa looked down at her fur-covered feet. Was he still doing that weird in-character thing, like before? “Umm --”

He rolled his eyes, obviously exasperated. “Come here. Touch my face if you don’t believe me.”

He must be teasing her, or trying to scare her. Well, he wouldn’t succeed. Sansa took a step forward, intending to pat his cheek, but as she lifted her arm, she remembered a key reason why she couldn’t do so. She gazed sheepishly at her hand, which was enclosed in the paw part of her sleeve. “I -- I can’t.”

“Too afraid? Figures,” Sandor spat. He turned away and took a step in the direction of the driveway.

“No!” Sansa cried, embarrassed that Sandor would think her so rude. She placed her paw on his sleeve. “I just -- I would have to take half my costume off in order to touch you with my hand. See?” She flexed her fingers and was amazed by the rock-like hardness of Sandor’s bicep.

He smirked down at her again, and the heat rose up in Sansa’s cheeks. The glint in his eye told her that he wouldn’t mind if she stripped off her costume. 

Well, that wasn’t about to happen. But she wasn’t going to be rude either, or make him think that his scars scared her, if scars were what they really were, after all. But there was another way she could touch him that didn’t involve clothing removal. She stood up on her tiptoes and closed her eyes, and pressed her lips against the thick, puckered folds of his skin.

He was telling the truth. The scars were real.

When she opened her eyes, he was staring down at her with nearly as much disbelief in his eyes as had previously been in his voice. “Never been kissed by a wolf before,” he whispered, clearly trying to sound casual about it and failing completely. “Wasn’t so bad.”

It was kind of cute in a rough way. /He/ was kind of cute in a rough way. “Would you like to kiss a wolf again?” she asked, feeling both coy and bold.

“Not really,” he replied. “But I wouldn’t mind kissing you.” And that’s just what he leaned in to do.

As Sandor’s scarred lips brushed against Sansa’s mouth, she decided that this was turning into a very nice Halloween after all.

*_*_*_*_*

 

[Happy Halloween!]


End file.
